


Blue Windows

by norwegian_galaxies



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 1950s, BPD, Because I can, Denmark is an artist/illustrator, F/F, F/M, Facades, Fire Island, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, I think I am overthinking this oneshot request, M/M, New York, Norway is an author, Past Abuse, Past Relationship(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-World War II, Set in America?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-16
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-08-24 12:22:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16640021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/norwegian_galaxies/pseuds/norwegian_galaxies
Summary: Fire Island, New York. 1950s.Matthias Køhler is an illustrator who needs a muse. Lukas Bondevik is an author who needs an artist.Matthias Køhler is a Danish man with a dark past. Lukas Bondevik is a Norwegian man with a new beginning.Both Matthias and Lukas need each other, but neither of them know it.Requested by supernova71.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [supernova71](https://archiveofourown.org/users/supernova71/gifts).



This story starts in a moment.

Not a day. Not a month. A moment.

All stories must begin in a moment. The way this story starts is with Matthias Køhler kneeling on the floor over a canvas, pencil in hand. His hand and the tip of the pencil hovered mere inches away from the fabric, though right before he was about to make a mark on it, he stopped himself and sighed.

"Who are you kidding, Køhler,” he sighed, pushing his hair off of his sweat-ridden forehead and putting his cap back on. The cap belonged to his father, who’d worn it in the 20s. He used it to cover up his annoyingly spiky blonde hair. “This isn’t going to earn you a living.”

"Maybe it won’t,” someone sighed from behind him. “But even if it doesn’t, it’s still somethin’ you’re good at.”

It was Køhler’s partner, Berwald Oxenstierna, one of his friends from when he lived in Europe. Berwald was from Sweden, and Matthias had met him after fleeing Denmark and the Nazis.

"The worst part,” Matthias continued, “is that I don’t have a muse. I don’t know what to do.”

"'M sorry about that,” Berwald replied, rubbing the back of his neck. “Why’re you still wearing that hat? Nobody’s going to see you here.”

"My hair keeps falling in my face,” Matthias sighed, adjusting the cap, since it was already beginning to fall off. He chewed on his lip and threw the pencil across the room. “I really hate this, ya know?”

"What?”

"I want to draw, but I CAN’T!”

"Your muse’ll come soon,” Berwald replied, nodding slightly. “Though I get it. It’s hard. Especially in this day n’ age, where ‘art is useless’.”

"Blegh,” the Dane agreed. He shook his head and pushed more hair beneath his cap. “Oh well, nothing we do’s gonna change that.”

The Swede gave Køhler a long once over, then nodded once again, before smiling a barely visible sad smile. “Hope ya get out of this slump.”

"Oh, believe me, I do too,” Køhler chuckled bitterly, rolling his eyes. He turned his gaze back to the canvas before pushing himself up off of the floor and walking out the door, down the hall, and into his own bedroom. There, he took off his cap and flopped backwards onto his bed, covering his eyes with said grey cap. He let out a long sigh and reached over to the radio, twisting the knobs to find some music he liked, before crawling beneath the sheets and trying to fall asleep and end this living nightmare. Honestly, being an artist without a muse seemed worse than anything that he’d ever been through before. And Matthias Køhler had certainly been through his share of shit, that was for sure.

*

In possibly a completely different universe, Lukas Bondevik was sitting at a desk, writing. Sure, everybody told him that it would lead to nothing; however, he’d still continued with it, and now he was semi-famous in his area.

He set the pen down on his desk, checking over his work, before sighing in satisfaction and leaning back in his chair, his head falling back against the headrest. He loved his job, had always adored writing since he was young. He also enjoyed playing violin, which was what he was writing about.

He ran his fingers through his hair and stuck the pen behind his ear, before pushing himself up and stretching. The sun rays were shining through the window and onto the desk and his fingertips. It had grown too bright in the room, however, so he drew the elegant indigo curtains back over the window and blinked, rubbing his eyes to correct his vision. He figured he was about done for the day, so he pushed his oak chair in as well.

Lukas and his brother, as well as a lot of the people in the area, were part of the beat generation, the artist generation. He was a writer and a musician, as was his brother, Emil. However, Emil was always in school and couldn’t do anything much with his talent, though it very much existed. Lukas was, at the moment, trying to finish his latest book. However, the only problem was that it was fairly hard for a lot of people, other than himself, to envision and imagine the pictures he painted with his words. Granted, his word choice was very deep and meaningful, as a lot of people said. Unfortunately, they couldn’t really “see” what Lukas was trying to say. That was why he wanted an illustrator.

He walked over to the next room, which belonged to his brother. Emil was laying on his bed, completing work for school, the radio in his room turned all the way up. He was listening to some classical seeming music, which was typical for him, especially when he was trying to concentrate. Lukas felt obliged to turn it down, however, and did so. Emil looked up at him.

“What do you want?”

"How is your homework coming along?" Lukas questioned, raising his eyebrows.

"Depends. How's your book coming along?" Emil spat, before leaning over and turning the radio back up.

The Norwegian stared at him, narrowing his eyes. "What's wrong with you now, Lillebror?"

Emil's face turned pink, and he didn't look up anymore. He continued to turn the radio up and finish his school work. Lukas, knowing that he wasn't going to get any more responses from his brother (other than silence) walked back out after tousling Emil's silver hair. The music followed him out into the kitchen. A few lightbulbs were flickering, so he unscrewed them and drew the curtains from the windows, letting sunlight pour in.

He sighed as he looked out the window. There was a couple walking down the street; his friend, Arthur Kirkland, and Arthur's boyfriend, Alfred .F. Jones. They were talking and laughing about something. They looked so happy.

He reached out and touched the glass, suddenly feeling very...

... _lonely_.

He looked down at the metal sink that was beneath the window, gripping the edge of the counter with his cold, pale hands. He had to admit, he'd always been fairly lonely. He'd had a girlfriend during the war, but she'd been taken away from him, and she was probably never coming back. He couldn't say he missed her much, since she was whiny and pushy and took so much from him without giving anything in return.

However, he did miss having someone to care about other than his brother, and vice versa. None of the girls on the island or elsewhere caught his fancy. He'd moved to the island, in fact, since a lot of the artists and so-called "queers" had been moving there. He fancied men now more than women. But what man would ever stop and look at him like how Alfred was looking at Arthur?

A chill passed over him, and his face lost expression once again. He sighed hopelessly.

There were two things he desired at the moment: an illustrator, and someone to love. However, he honestly didn't think he could get either.

*

To clear his head, Køhler decided to take a walk along the streets to see if he could find something, anything, to be his muse.

He pushed his cap down so it covered part of his forehead and wrapped his scarf around his neck tightly. There was a chill in the air, and a slight scent that hinted at a near-future snow. Cirrus clouds dotted the blue sky.

"Snow," he muttered, sighing. He'd painted too much snow and ice in the past. He wanted to paint something warmer, fiery, riddled with spirit. "Why can't snow be made of fire?" He looked down at the paving of the sidewalk he was walking on and sighed, drawing his coat closer around him. " _Shit_."

He pushed open the door to the diner and was immediately greeted with the warm smell of food. He sat himself down in a booth and idly tapped his foot to the beat of the music that was playing on the jukebox.

"Excuse me, sir," a waitress said, walking up to him. She had short, light brown hair tied up in a ponytail, a green bandana tied around. She had an accent that he definitely recognized from when he still lived in Europe. _Belgian_. "What would you like to drink?"

She was definitely more polite than the other waitresses, that was for certain. He'd never heard a girl speak to him like that at this diner. He lowered the brim of his hat and blushed. "I'll just take water," he said, grinning up at her.

"All right," she replied, smiling back, her face growing pink. She walked away, her skirt swaying as she walked.

He inhaled deeply, knowing that the girl thought that he liked her. He didn't, in fact, though he did like all people, regardless of their gender. He hoped that she wouldn't try to flirt with him, though, because he did have a hard time saying no. He drummed his fingers on the table and tried not to look at the annoying checkerboard pattern on the floor. It always gave him a headache whenever he looked at it.

Soon, the waitress returned with his glass of water, then asked what he wanted to eat. He ordered a burger and fries, his gaze drifting around the room, seeing faces of his friends and enemies alike. He knew almost all of the people in the diner. He thought that was pretty boring. However, when the waitress walked away again, he saw someone sitting at the counter on a barstool whom he had never seen before.

He didn't recognize the person's leather jacket or soft blonde hair. He didn't recognize their thin, elf-like bone structure or their pale skin. They were talking to one of the waitresses behind the counter, the woman clearly enjoying what they were saying as she washed a glass.

They pulled some money out of their pocket, put it on the table, and slid off the stool before turning around to walk towards the door.

That's when his heart stopped; when he saw the person's face.

He had deep indigo eyes, like an ocean full of melancholy. His nose was slightly large, yet elegantly straight. His lips were drawn into a pensive line. Bangs covered his right eye, and a cross-shaped clip pulled the left side away from his face. He was so beautiful that he made Matthias want to cry and smile at the same time. He reminded him of the moon and the sun, the aurora and the endless sky, the snow and ice, the fire and water. He felt numb, yet filled with such feeling.

And he froze as the person gave him a quick once over.

"Cute..." The person muttered, his voice silky yet at the same time a bit deep. It fit his entire disposition perfectly. "But, lose the cap." Then, he walked away.

Køhler felt his face growing hot, and he covered his face with his hands. Then, a thought popped into his head, and he yelped, jumping up out of the booth, sprinting after the person. He'd come back and eat his food a bit later, he decided.

The beautiful stranger was turning a corner when Matthias finally caught up to him. "Hej, wait!" He yelled, trying to get his attention.

The stranger turned. "Didn't I say lose the cap?" He replied nonchalantly, crossing his arms. A pencil was tucked discreetly behind his left ear. Matthias once again found himself at loss for words, and just gulped, blushing. His hands shook, and he shoved them in his jacket pockets. "What do you want," the man in front of him sighed, rolling his eyes.

The Dane stood there, awkwardly, his sky blue eyes focused solely on the person in front of him. He managed to stutter out, "What's your name?"

"Lukas Bondevik," the person replied, crossing his arms. "And who might you be?"

His voice held within it a thick Norwegian accent, and the accent made Matthias shiver to the very marrow of his bones. "Matthias Køhler," he answered, trying not to stutter once again.

Lukas' hand shot out, and he snatched the cap off of Matthias' head and threw it on the ground, thus causing the Dane's crazy hair to appear. "Matthias...I've heard your name somewhere before. Are you, by any chance, an illustrator or artist?"

"Um, I think everybody here is an artist," Køhler said, shrugging. He pushed back his hair, trying to flatten it down, while also trying to snatch his cap back. After multiple failed attempts at doing both, he huffed. "C-can I have my cap back?"

"Not unless you help me, and probably not after that, either."

"That made no sense whatsoever."

"Oh well." Lukas sighed. "I'm a writer, and people are having trouble picturing what I write about. I figured that if I got an illustrator...well, it would help?"

"U-uh..." Køhler didn't expect to hear that. He blushed even redder and bit the corner of his lip nervously. "I don't know..."

"Please," Lukas said, closing his eyes and gripping the cap tightly. "Please, I really need help."

Køhler thought for a moment. On the one hand, Lukas did seem like he really needed legitimate help. It would also help with his small muse issue he'd run into, and--well, the writer was damn beautiful. However, on the other hand, what would happen if his work wasn't up to Lukas' expectations?

"...Sure," he sighed, lowering his head, letting his eyes fall shut. He held out his hand, and then felt the slight weight of his cap. He put the cap back on and tucked his hair beneath it so that he was almost certain that it wouldn't show.

"I don't understand, though," Lukas added to the gesture, crossing his arms. "Why do you want to hide your hair? It makes you look even more like an artist."

Køhler knew his face was already red, but he felt a blush creeping up his neck and over his ears now. This beautiful stranger was going to reduce him to jelly, wasn't he? That's what it was looking like, that was for certain. "Th-thanks." He kicked the ground and smiled stupidly. "U-um...do you need my help now, or...?"

Lukas nodded. "If you wouldn't mind." His lips pursed into a thin line, and he ran his fingers through his hair, fixing the clip there so it pushed some of his blonde hair behind his ear. He began to stroll down the street in the direction of the house, expecting the Dane to follow behind.

However, it had been at that moment that Køhler remembered he'd been trying to get something to sate the grumbling within his stomach. He sprinted up to the man, who was only a few paces away, and tapped his shoulder. "Excuse me?"

"What?"

He gestured to the diner. "I never got to eat my lunch."

Lukas sighed and rolled his eyes. "Idiot," he muttered, before turning on his heel and walking back towards the diner. Køhler followed and sat back down where he had been sitting previously, just as the Belgian girl walked by with the food and set it down in front of him with a flirtatious wink, directed at the Dane. Lukas noticed this and rolled his eyes once more. "What's up with that girl?" He asked, raising his eyebrows.

Køhler lowered his gaze and blushed, chewing on the ends of one of the fries awkwardly. He didn't particularly want to talk about the waitress, especially when somebody this beautiful was sitting in front of him.

 _I've already fallen for this guy_ , he thought with a long sigh, resting his face in his hands. _I've already fallen, and way too hard._

*

Lukas let out an exasperated sigh and practically flopped on his bed. He was filled with way too much emotion, as he had just handed off his whole outline--practically the rest of his life--to a stranger, someone he'd just met.

He cursed at himself and beat his pillow with his fists, angry tears streaming down his face and pooling on the duvet. How could he be such an idiot? He swore to himself that Matthias would actually die if he lost or destroyed the outline. _Seriously_ , how could he have been such an idiot?

Oh yeah, because the Dane was _too gosh dang cute_ , and Lukas had lost his focus and clearly his brain back there.

"Lukas?" A small voice said from the door. The Norwegian whipped around to see a familiar face with shiny silver hair. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," Lukas spat, gritting his teeth. "Perfectly fine."

"Who was that person who was here earlier?"

"He was an artist for my story. Then I let him take the whole goddamn thing home with him."

"Oh..." Emil nodded slowly, before walking away once again.

"You're doing your homework, right?" Lukas called, as he heard the door to his brother's room slam shut. He took the silence he received in response to his question as a no, and that Emil was probably talking on the telephone to that Wang boy he liked so much.

He swore, anger flaring, before standing up and stripping, changing into his nightclothes and curling up beneath the sheets of his bed. He felt as though he needed to sleep for a long time that night.

He couldn't help but think about the Dane's smile as he laid there, staring up at the dark ceiling.

*

_Knock knock knock._

"Who is it?"

The door in front of Matthias opened to reveal a semi-tall silver-haired boy with purple eyes. His facial expression was similar to one Lukas would make. The Dane felt his face flush at the thought of the writer. He held out the large stack of papers in his hand towards the teenager. "You must be Lukas' brother. I'm Matthias. I'm back with his stuff."

The teenager took the papers and set them down on a small table by the door before calling over his shoulder, "Lukas, your boyfriend is here to see you." Then he walked away without a word.

Matthias shoved his hands in his pockets, chewing on his lip, blushing profusely at the comment that the boy had made. As he was trying to make his blush fade away, however, the Norwegian appeared in front of him, a similar blush spreading across his cheeks.

"Hei, Matthias," Lukas said, looking the artist up and down. "Where is the--" Before Lukas could finish his sentence, Matthias gestured to the stack of papers on the small table. "Oh." The Norwegian nodded, picking up the papers and turning around. He began to walk back inside, leaving the door open behind him. Matthias stood in the doorway, a slight frown on his face. The brim of his cap still left his aquamarine eyes in shadow. The cold air continued to blow inside the warmth of the house. He stood in silence before Lukas stopped walking and cleared his throat, looking over his shoulder. "Well?"

"What?"

The writer rolled his eyes and blew his bangs out of his face. "Are you coming in, or not?"

Matthias looked back out at the street, where the street lamps were already starting to flick off. The sky was painted purple by the clouds, and pink by the sun; it was beautiful, though he knew that this meant that he should probably get back home, eat breakfast, and start painting. He'd only wanted to bring back the outline. "I shouldn't," he said, chewing on his lip. "I need to get back home, and anyway, I don't want to intrude."

"Don't be stupid," Lukas snapped, turning around so that the Dane could see his aggravation, still clutching the papers in his arms. "Emil and I were just sitting down for some breakfast, it would be rude of me not to offer some to you as well."

Matthias chuckled slightly at this and tucked a strand of blonde hair behind his ear. "I must say, nobody's invited me into their house since I left Denmark."

"Why did you leave?"

Matthias sighed, walking into the warm house and shutting the lilac door behind him. He took off his cap and hung it on one of the nails in the wall. His unruly blonde hair spilled out, spiking up everywhere. He combed it with his fingers as he began to talk. "I had to leave to get away from the war," he said, biting his lip. "I was helping people get to Sweden, and after I did so, I stayed with my new buddy, Berwald. But then, we decided that it would probably just be better to leave Europe entirely."

Lukas was nodding his head throughout Matthias' whole story, seeming a lot like a bobblehead. "Emil and I--we left Norway for the same reason." He didn't say any more.

"I-uh...hope you get to go back there sometime," Matthias said, quietly, as Lukas lead him down the hall and into another room. It was clearly a bedroom, though it wasn't decorated much. The room was nearly bare, save for an oak desk placed on the far right wall, a chair to go with the desk, a small, unmade bed in the center of the back wall, and a wardrobe. Matthias plopped himself down on the edge of the bed as Lukas placed the stack of papers on the desk.

"Why are you in my bed?" Lukas questioned, after turning around and seeing the Dane sitting there.

Matthias shrugged. "I needed a place to sit down." And it was then that he finally noticed, Lukas was still wearing nightclothes. "Wait, do you want to change?"

The Norwegian rolled his eyes. "Well, you _did_ come here at six in the morning," he said, giving the Dane a pointed look.

"Sorry, I thought you were an early bird," Matthias chuckled, sounding a tad bittersweet. He chewed on his lip. "So, where would you like me to wait?"

"The dining room is down the hall and to the right. Wait for me at the table."

Lukas practically pushed the taller man out of the room, a blush prominent on his cheeks. Matthias was a bit concerned when the door slammed behind him, but the concern faded somewhat into slight annoyance. _Did he actually think I was going to sit there and watch him change?_

Not that he didn't think Lukas would look good without clothes...

And then, he was thinking about it. He covered up his blushing face and quickly walked in the direction of the dining room, music growing louder with every step he took.

When he finally made it to the dining room, he sat down at the head of the table, listening to the music playing over the radio, tapping his foot on the floor with both impatience and the beat of the song.

After about ten minutes of neither Lukas nor his brother showing up with any breakfast, Matthias grew a bit worried, if not agitated. He chewed on his lip and called for the Norwegian. Surely it didn't take so long to change one's clothes.

"Lukas?"

"Right here, dumbass," Lukas sighed, sliding into the room, carrying a plate stacked high with pancakes, covered in syrup and butter. He set the plate down in front of Matthias, before walking back out the door he'd entered from.

"So you're not going to eat with me?"

"If I'm the one who is making breakfast," Lukas answered from the other room, "then how exactly am I supposed to eat the same exact breakfast I'm making in a completely different room?"

The Dane blushed, embarrassed, then looked down at the stack of pancakes in front of him. They appeared golden brown and fluffy, butter slowly melting on the topmost pancake, dripping down the sides. The brown syrup completely covered the stack, water-falling towards the plate beneath it. Matthias began to salivate, and he picked up his fork, starting to eat.

*

Lukas couldn't believe it: not a page was torn, nor stained, nor wrinkled. His outline appeared perfect, just like it had been when it left the house.

He wondered what exactly the still-infuriating artist was planning to do for the story, and he hoped that Matthias actually understood what he was trying to illustrate with his words. Perhaps Lukas would ask him to bring some sketches by tomorrow, maybe even later that day?

 _Sounds_ _about_ _right_ , he thought, as he added more flour to the pancake batter. He looked down and chewed on his lip. _You're_ _certainly not doing this because_ _you want to see_ _him again. No siree_.

It was then, though, that the memory of Alfred and Arthur from a few days prior decided to surface, and he sighed, remembering how in love they had looked.

And then he remembered the Dane's obnoxious smile, his crazy blonde hair, and his bright blue eyes that revealed every thought, every secret. They were like endless blue skies, endless blue windows into Matthias' soul.

Lukas nearly melted.

 


	2. Chapter 2

It seemed to Køhler that, over the past few days, he'd been seeing more of the beautiful Norwegian than a canvas. His cap still hung, forgotten, on the nails on Lukas' wall, collecting dust. Matthias always wrote himself a mental note to take the cap home whenever he came back to the house, however it never did him much good in the end.

He'd bring the newspaper or coffee or pastries in the morning, and Lukas ended up leaving the key out in a flowerpot so that Matthias could let himself in whenever he wanted to stop by.

The Dane knew that the reason he kept coming over wasn't even for the art anymore. He also could tell, from the way that Lukas looked at him, why the Norwegian always let him stay. Even though Matthias wasn't one to jump to conclusions normally, he was fairly certain he knew the answer.

He was walking along the street in the direction of Lukas' house, his hands in his pockets, whistling. He wasn't normally one to whistle, but he was feeling especially cheery that morning. He sauntered over to the house with the lilac door, fished around in a flowerpot filled with heather, and pulled out a key. He twisted the key in the keyhole and opened the door.

"Luka~!" He called. "Emil! I'm here!"

There was no reply, so he figured that the two brothers were asleep. However, when he made his way down the hall to Lukas' bedroom, the door was open and the room was graced with warm, rosy pink morning light. Lukas was sitting in front of a window in his desk chair, illuminated in the morning sun, his hair braided away from his face and pinned back. His eyes were closed gently. To Matthias, he appeared almost dead.

The Dane reached out, shaking Lukas' shoulder gently to see if he was asleep. Tired purple eyes opened wide, and the Norwegian turned to look at Matthias.

"Oh, it's you," Lukas said, a dusting of pink crossing his cheeks. He lowered his gaze and laced the fingers in his lap together, furrowing his brow.

"How are you?" Matthias asked, standing behind the wooden chair and watching as his companion's shoulders rose and fell with his breath. He was a bit concerned as to why Lukas was sitting in front of the window like that. "Do you need to...talk about anything?" Lukas sighed, eyes still focused on his hands, and shook his head. His eyes seemed to well up, and one stray tear slowly trickled down from the corner of his eye to his chin. Matthias' smile dropped completely. "Hej, are you okay?" The Norwegian took a deep breath through his nose and ran his sleeve over his eyes, but didn't say anything. "Lukas?"

"Yes, hi," Lukas said, turning to look at Matthias. "What do you want?"

"I brought those sketches you wanted," the Dane said, rubbing the back of his neck before pulling some folded papers from his pocket and holding them out to Lukas.

"A month too late, I might add," the writer muttered, taking the papers away and setting them on the window sill. He then turned around in his chair and chewed on his lip. "Matthias, I think I need to ask you something."

Matthias gulped. The way Lukas had said that was eerily calm, yet still promised trouble. The misty malaise in his eyes had disappeared, the indigo oceans freezing into glaciers. "What do you need to ask?"

His eyes glittered with the reflection of the morning sun. "Why. Why do you keep coming back? And don't you dare say that it's because of work, I can tell that it isn't."

That was when the Dane froze up like a deer in headlights, unsure of what to say. He could feel his face growing beet red, and butterflies were flying in nervous circles within his stomach. He worried his lip between his teeth.

"What's the problem?" Lukas asked, raising his eyebrows. "It shouldn't be this hard to tell me something so simple."

"It's just that I don't know how to answer," the Dane mumbled, shuffling his feet.

The glaciers in Lukas' eyes melted once again at Matthias' insecurity, and he sighed, lowering his gaze. He looked apologetic. "I'm sorry for snapping," he replied, gritting his teeth.

"I-it's fine," Matthias sighed, giving the other a weak smile.

"Will you answer when you know how to, at least?"

The Dane knew he'd never be able to tell Lukas what he had been thinking, no matter how hard he tried. Yet he still nodded in agreement. "Yes, I will," he said, flashing a smile at the Norwegian.

"Good," Lukas' lips twitched into a slight smile, and it was then of course that the sun's rays filtered through the window, making Lukas seem as though he was glowing.

He truly was a fallen angel, Matthias decided.

*

It was cold, and yet, they were at the beach, walking mere feet away from the waves licking at the shores.

Matthias had kicked off his shoes a while ago, when they had first arrived; he still wore his beaten leather jacket and rolled his jeans halfway up his calves. He dug his toes in the cool sand, right by the water.

Lukas, on the other hand, was wearing a grey sweater and dark jeans, his shoes still on. He had brought his violin and played it quietly as they walked along the shoreline together.

A few others were on the beach--the usual amount of crazy people that came out and swam during the winter. Shoot, the flamboyant, long-haired blonde Frenchman, Francis, was almost certainly skinny-dipping in the freezing cold water. Lukas could see with a sigh of frustration that almost everybody was there with their lovers; Alfred and Arthur, Feliciano and Ludwig...they were together, having fun. But no, the crazy, barefoot Danish man was his only companion, and they weren't in love like the aforementioned couples were.

Lukas had to admit that he had very complicated feelings about the artist; for one thing, he was only supposed to be someone to help with his book. However, Matthias had slowly grown into one of Lukas' best friends, and even into Lukas' crush. But it felt wrong to him for some reason. This was not how the story was supposed to end; it was supposed to end with Matthias painting the pictures to go along with the book, and Lukas would win awards on it and get enough money to go back to Norway.

But of course--and Lukas sighed at this--once he left, he would probably never be able to come back...and never be able to see Matthias ever again.

The last part hurt him more than he wanted it to.

"Hej, you okay?"

Lukas had been staring at the sand beneath his shoes, until a loud voice cut through his thoughts. He quickly looked up to see the bright-eyed artist looking down at him with an adorable, lopsided grin on his lips. He blushed and cursed at himself inwardly for looking up. "Fine," he said, pushing his hair out of his face. "I'm perfectly fine...um." He kicked at the sand, lowering his gaze. He'd only just realized exactly how close the Dane was standing to him. In fact, if he just leaned forward a _little bit more...._

Matthias seemed to realize this, too, because he bit his lip and backed off a bit. But Lukas pulled him back. "Eh? What are you doing?" He asked, face flushed pink.

The Norwegian's heart was beating a mile a minute, and he set his violin and bow down in the sand before pressing his hand to Matthias' chest. His heartbeat was quickening as well, and the Dane looked down at the pale hand covering his heart, confused and blushing even redder than Lukas had ever seen anyone blush in his life.

It was then that the Norwegian pulled him closer, before cupping his face, caressing his cheeks with his thumbs. He looked straight into Matthias' beautiful blue windows, and saw his thoughts within. He wanted this as badly as Lukas did.

Yet it was Matthias who broke the distance between them and left a soft kiss, like a feather, on Lukas' lips. They still stood there, faces inches apart, staring at each other, until Lukas leaned forward again, kissing Matthias, Matthias kissing back. Neither of them wanted to pull away. Lukas let his hands drift upwards, behind the Dane's neck, and Matthias tangled his fingers in the Norwegian's hair, pulling him closer.

It was absolutely perfect, until it wasn't.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't know," Lukas murmured, looking down at his violin. He actually had no idea why he'd just pushed away the man he loved, but something felt wrong. He stared at the instrument; the silver strings, the painted purple and blue swirls on the dark-stained wood. The swirls began to blur together and his eyes began to burn after a few seconds. Blinking, tears ran down his face, yet he still kept a stone face. It was getting progressively harder to breathe.

He felt large hands gripping his shoulders, but didn't look up at the owner of them. "Lukas?"

He covered his face with his hands and his breathing patterns grew erratic and heavy, teardrops upon teardrops leaking from the oceans of his eyes. He squeezed his eyes shut, and he felt the darkness of his past enveloping him.

"Lukas?" He could hear a quiet voice saying, and he knew that it belonged to Matthias. He knew the arms surrounding him were Matthias', too. He hoped they were, at least.

"Matthias?" He managed to force the name out. He felt a hand immediately on his own, squeezing it gently. Matthias' hand was larger and warmer than his. He was the sun.

But Lukas was the new moon. He couldn't see anything but darkness, feel anything but the grip Matthias had on his hand. He'd turned away from the rest of mankind and chanced eternal loneliness.

Not that it mattered.

Why was it so cold?

"Lukas..."

And then, Lukas could feel warmth surrounding him, enfolding him in it's arms. His ears were ringing, yet he could still hear his own choked sobs, and could hear Matthias telling him it was all right, and that he was there, and that he would always be there. Matthias began to ground him, and his mind cleared after his breathing slowed and sharp, cold air entered his lungs. He uncovered his face and looked up.

"Are you all right?" The wild blonde asked quietly, tilting his head. Concern was written all over his face. His brows were furrowed, and his eyes were wide, filled with tears of their own. He was not sporting that adorable-yet-obnoxious smile anymore, either.

Lukas couldn't answer, however. He closed his eyes and let the cold wind blow his hair out of his face, dry his tears, and paint his ears, nose, and cheeks reddish-pink.

"I'm really sorry for kissing you, Lukas," Matthias suddenly blurted. "I'm really, really sorry--I didn't mean to stress you out, and I understand if you don't return my feelings..." He trailed off and looked down at the Norwegian again, who was still staring blankly at him, and it was somewhat unnerving. "U-um..."

Finally, Lukas blinked. "It's all right," he said smoothly, evenly, giving the Dane a weak smile. "I just..."

"What?"

"U-um..." His words caught in his throat, and he swallowed hard, lowering his gaze. "I didn't really expect you to do that."

Matthias raised one dark eyebrow and his frown deepened. "To kiss ya?"

Lukas nodded and pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. "I've just never felt so..." He trailed off and dropped his hand, pursing his lips. _Loved_ , he had wanted to say. Yet he knew it would be best if he kept quiet for right then.

The Dane sighed, running his fingers through his spiky hair, closing his bright blue eyes, and the writer noticed then just how long and dark Matthias' eyelashes were, almost like a girl's. However, it suited him, and they rested on his rosy, freckled cheeks, appearing as much of a masterpiece as the rest of him.

However, much to Lukas' dismay, Matthias opened his eyes once again and forced a grin on his face. "Do you want me to take you home?"

Lukas' mouth twitched. "Yes..."

Matthias pushed himself up and stood after picking up the semi-forgotten violin and bow, holding out his hand for Lukas to take. Their hands touched, and he pulled Lukas off of the sand, and part of the Norwegian wished that he wouldn't let go. But the Dane's warm, reassuring hand was soon replaced with freezing, empty, winter air.

They avoided talking about the elephant in the room--the kiss--as they walked, which made the harsh chill in the air seem even worse to the young writer.

*

The wind blew harder, it seemed, with every step he took away from Lukas Bondevik.

However, it would be best if he just left the man alone for a while.

Even as a fire roared in the hearth and he had curled up in his favorite flannel blanket, the cold was ever-present; in his mind, in his heart, in his soul. He'd sullied the one thing in the entire god damn world he loved at this point, other than painting. And even then, painting was a flop.

It didn't use to be a flop. Painting used to make him happy, and it always came so easily to him. He was so happy as a child, so alive. So what if his parents had given him to his aunt because they hated his "spazzing"? He hadn't had a care in the world back then, as long as he could paint. His aunt loved his pictures. She loved his imagination. She'd always said that it was the best part about him. His parents, whenever they visited, called him an embarrassment, but he hadn't cared.

Matthias sighed, thinking about that. His own parents had hated him, and yet he hadn't given a crap about it then. And yet somehow, he did now.

He guessed that it was because he didn't know what hate was. He didn't know it existed, growing up with his loving aunt.

Not until she was killed by a Nazi soldier right in front of him, at least.

He cringed at the memory and tried to shake the image of it out of his head. He missed Denmark; of course he did, it was his home. Yet if he ever went back, he would for sure be able to see all those awful things that had happened once again, and he did not want to do that. He tried to replace the aforementioned memory with something else, but instead, a painful memory of a young man with cat-like green eyes and hair that spiked up in the front sliced through his brain.

He curled in closer to himself in the blanket, winding his arms around his legs, trying to think about something else. He quickly warned himself not to think about one certain person, but of course him being the idiot he was, he immediately started thinking about him; his beautiful, indigo eyes, his moon-pale skin, the pale freckles across the bridge of his nose. The way his voice floated through the air like music, and how every movement was as graceful as a swan. The curve of his hips, his long, thin legs.

He kept telling himself not to think about Lukas, but the more he did so, the more his mind betrayed him.

He finally fell asleep to the thought of him.

*

The previously folded-up papers were on Lukas' desk, and he was studying the lines of them, both intrigued and awed.

Matthias' sketches were beautiful, absolutely beautiful, and portrayed Lukas' story exactly how he'd wanted them to. A boy with large swan wings and a violin was dancing in a music box on the first paper. On the next papers, the same swan-boy was playing the violin to another boy, kissing the boy, and on the last paper, both the swan-boy and the boy he'd kissed were smiling.

Then he noticed something. The swan-boy's violin looked just like his own, with the colored swirls in the exact same places. In addition, the swan-boy himself looked quite like Lukas, save for there being no cross-shaped clip. And the swan-boy's lover favored Matthias.

He sighed and lowered his eyes, fingers brushing over his lips.

He hoped that it would be able to happen again, at least one more time.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so late, and so short. Heh...something came up.

One thought crossed Matthias Køhler's mind as he waded in the freezing water of the ocean.

He was crazy. 

Or at least, he was going crazy; he wasn't crazy yet since he hadn't taken off his clothes and gone skinny-dipping. Though, the cold would get him out of this daze he'd been in. That's what it had done when he stuck his feet in the water.

But no. Matthias did not want to die today, and especially not on this beach. This beach had been where he and Lukas had shared their first kiss, and he didn't want to sully the sanctity of the beach with his final kiss: the kiss of death.

He missed Lukas, there was no doubt about it. He missed the way that he'd try to hide his emotions beneath a stone face, even though his eyes were indigo mirrors, reflecting his thoughts and emotions. He missed his soft skin, his soft lips, that soft way Lukas sometimes looked at him.

He waded further out, looking up into the dark sky where a few white stars hung. The full moon revealed itself from behind a cloud, bathing Matthias and the beach in light. He couldn't feel his feet anymore, but he didn't care.

He thought of poetry and a few of Lukas' other works that he had seen. There was an ode to the moon. Matthias had stolen the page the ode had been written on just for a few days so he could memorize it.

And through his lips, the words were soon projected. Not as a poem, but as a song.

Yet the manner in which he sang it made the poem share more likenesses with an elegy.

*

Dinner with Emil was always quiet. It was a peaceful quiet, a nice quiet. The only sounds really heard were the radio, the clinking of silverware, and the sipping and setting down of water in a glass.

However, this quiet seemed more tense and heavy to Lukas. Clearly, Emil could feel it, too; he kept squirming around uncomfortably in his chair, and was chewing on his lip more than his dinner (which was mackerel).

They sat like that for a few more minutes, and then Emil dropped his fork with a loud clatter. 

"What happened to the Danish guy?" he burst out, squeezing his eyes shut.

Lukas froze, stone still, a chill running up his spine, and closed his eyes gently, setting down his fork. "I don't know, Emil."

"Well, Lukas," Emil said, angrily, "you'd better find out, because I can't stand seeing you like this." He narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. "Did he do something?"

"Matthias would never..." Lukas shook his head, staring blankly down at his fish, starting to play with his fork.

"Obviously something happened," the Icelander huffed, his cheeks fire-engine red. He bit his lip and sighed, clearly trying to calm down. "...It's just...you had never been so happy with someone. Not Natalya, not Vladimir..."

Lukas furrowed his eyebrows and looked up at Emil, confused. "What...you think we were dating?"

"No!" Emil snorted, rolling his eyes. "I just...wished you would, every time I saw you together, because..." he sighed, looking down at his feet, his demeanor growing calmer; he looked like a young child again, the one that Lukas had practically raised on his own. "I-I know how happy he makes you. And that's all I want for you, to be happy."

Tears began to roll down Lukas' face, and he moved his plate, slamming his head down on the table. 

He heard a chair being pushed back from the table, followed by soft, light footsteps coming around it and the feeling of a small hand on his back.

"You love him, don't you..."

Lukas nodded, his head still pressed to the cool wood.

"He loves you, too...have you seen the way he looks at you?" Emil rubbed his back in small circles. 

Lukas nodded again, but didn't say a word.

"Then look at me. Please, Brother..?"

The Norwegian slowly lifted his head and turned to look at his brother, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. "Ja..?"

Emil smiled gently at him--a rare occurance that nearly scared Lukas out of his seat. "Brother, what happened the day you went to the beach?"

The blonde took a deep breath in and closed his eyes, two more tears leaking from the corners of both of his eyes. "He kissed me," Lukas murmured, as he felt the ghost of that kiss on his lips. "I didn't think it was real. I thought it was a joke. It felt unreal, but oh-so-perfect..." 

But he stopped himself before his words evolved into those of a love poet's, turned, and hugged Emil, tears staining the boy's shirt. "I pulled away from him, Emil. I pulled away and cried."

Emil stayed silent, but hesitantly returned the embrace, lowering his head and crying himself.


End file.
